The Crimson Flash

In the center of the "big top," which sheltered the mammoth three-ring circus, brass horns blared to the rhythmic beat of a huge bass drum.

Eight trained elephants, giant actors of the sawdust ring, patiently stood in line, awaiting the command to make way for the tumblers, trapeze performers, bareback riders and the queen of the circus.

The twins, Marjory and Margaret MacDonald, just past ten years of age, and attending their first circus, stood pressed against the rope not an arm's length from the foremost elephant. Suddenly the gigantic creature reached out a beseeching trunk for a possible peanut.

Sensing danger, Johnny Thompson, the one-time lightweight boxing champion, who, besides their maid, stood guard over the millionaire twins, sprang forward. Quick as he was, his movement was far too slow. Marjory jumped back; there was an almost inaudible snap. The elephant stretched his trunk to full length--then in apparent anger uttered a hollow snort.

A broad bar of sunlight shooting over the top of the canvas wall was cut by a sudden flash. The flash described a circle, then blinked out at the feet of three waiting young women performers.

With a cry of consternation on his lips, Johnny Thompson sprang over the ropes. Bowling over an elephant trainer in his haste, he bolted toward the three girl acrobats at whose feet the miniature meteor had vanished.

Again his agile movement was far too slow. Six pairs of rough hands tried to seize him. Johnny's right shot out. With a little gurgle, an attendant in uniform staggered backward to crumple in the sawdust. A ring-master, leaping like a panther, landed on Johnny's back. Dropping abruptly, Johnny executed a somersault, shook himself free and rose only to butt his head into the stomach of a fat clown.

And then what promised to be a beautiful scrap ended miserably. A razor-back, or tent roustabout, struck Johnny on the head with a tent stake. Johnny dropped like an empty meal sack. At once four attendants dragged him beneath the tent wall into a shady corner. There, after tying his hands and feet, they waited for his return to consciousness.

Little by little Johnny came to himself, and began to fumble at his fetters.

"Wow! What hit me?" he grumbled, as he attempted to rub his bruised head.

"You fell and struck your head on a tent pole," grinned a razor-back.

"Some scrapper, eh?" a second man commented.

"Dope or moonshine?" asked a third.

"Neither," exclaimed Johnny. "It was--darn it! No. That's none of your business. But I'll get it back if I have to follow this one-horse show from Boston to Texas."

"You won't follow nothin' just at present," scowled the razor-back, eying his shackles with satisfaction. "That guy you hit had to go to the show's surgeon."

"Wow!" ejaculated his companion. "And I bet this little feller doesn't weigh a hundred and ten stripped! How'd he do it?"

"Let me loose and I'll give you a free exhibition," grinned Johnny, as he settled back, resolved to take what was coming to him with a smile.

He was not a quarrelsome fellow, this Johnny Thompson. He had studied the science of boxing and wrestling because it interested him, and because he wished to be able to take care of himself in every emergency. He never struck a man unless forced to do so. The emergency of the past hour had spurred him to unusual activity. In a way he regretted it now, but on reflection decided that were the same set of conditions to confront him again, his actions would probably be the same. His one regret was that he had been unable to attain his end. His only problem now was to recover lost ground and to reach the desired goal.